Dance
by fairmaidofkent
Summary: A girl's thoughts as she watches Lucius Malfoy.


Until you've met someone like him, you wouldn't understand. Words can only describe so much. It's one matter to walk into a room full of people and spot the one who merits the most attention; it is another entire to _feel _the magnetism that draws every set of eyes, and each brave enough body to him. When out of his presence, words can be thrown like darts, sharp but ultimately forgettable. He might be despised in the next room, but the moment one sees him, all discussion of his uncaring, jaded nature vanishes; there is only him. He is entirely unfamiliar with the concept of 'no'; nothing has ever been unattainable for him. Perhaps he is not the handsomest man in the crowd, but that goes unnoticed in his all consuming pull.

It was a chilly evening in November, but indoors it was sweltering, bodies packed close in a large space not quite expansive enough to contain all its occupants. When he arrives, it is late; the party might have been dwindling but for his arrival. He makes no apologies nor excuses for his tardiness, though the hostess confided in me that his presence was both expected and anticipated; he'd promised to be here. His sharp gaze quickly locates the first woman unattached to a man, and his advance holds no hesitation. She would not refuse him and he knows this as he draws her into his arms. No one could deny his confidence and enjoyment in dancing, and yet as the song ends, he draws away, eyes already roaming, and quickly locating a new partner, one that will last for at least one tune more. I watch what I dare before turning once more to my friends- they may or may not know who he is, but surely they are aware that he is there. We hover on the outskirts of the floor, talking as normally as one might, as we have been the entire evening. This party is not the norm for us; we simply happened to meet the right social climber at the right time, and develop a genuine friendship before the upwards hike was in full progress. Our dear hostess is not one to forget her lesser associates, for who else might attend these gatherings and prove just how far she has come? We are not an embarassment, we are simply here to enhance the idea that the party is overflowing with the elite, though in reality, there are few here of imortance. There's no tellling why _he_ decided to come, for his social rank is exponentially beyond the second most influential person here. Boredom seems the most probable option, though surely he has innumeral distractions? When this song ends, I look up again. He is passing by, and our eyes lock for a second; he permits me a nod, as one corner of his mouth curls upwards. He may have said my name; I'm not certain. I may often be described as 'cold' and 'unconcerned', but for a split second, I can't breathe. He moves on.

I excuse myself and push through to the patio to catch my breath. As icy air fills my lungs, I could laugh at the feelings racing through me. It's easy to discount such powerful charisma when it's not standing before you, and it was a matter of moments before I went back in. However, seconds was all it took: The landscape of bodies had changed, my secure group of friends swept away in the tide of the masses. I duck away from the entrance and pause, indecisive, searching for a familiar face to rejoin. Maybe that was why, or perhaps it was his incontrovertible draw, but I looked again to him. And this time, he was staring back. And moving with a lazy strut in my direction. I knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. It was obvious, it was predictable, but not to _me_, never to me. I was, however, surprised but the question in his tone, "Dance with me?" instead of "Dance with me." This I had not foreseen, but still, the answer was laughably clear. Though the immediate "Yes" was neither nonchalant nor surprising, it was the truth. I couldn't meet his eye as he drew me near, and surely I flushed crimson at the touch of his hand on my hip. I may have trembled. He said nothing, nor did I- I forced myself to focus on the sway of his body, tried to match the movement of my hips to fit his motions. I knew that, due to the sole fact that he held me, we were being watched- later, _after_, I would learn that there was hardly a soul in the room that _hadn't _seen. Later there would be whispers, but my thoughts didn't go that far; my mind was consumed by nothing but _him._ He was relaxed, unnattached, fluid in each practiced motion. Even as I began to calm, allowing my reflexes take over the frantic scramblings of my mind, the music dimmed; my turn was over. I moved away before he could, still not meeting his eye, letting my hand drift down his arm but no more. I may be nervous and delighted, but I will not seem obsequious. I returned quickly to my friends, smiling in what I hoped was a carefree way at their whispers and teases. Inside, I could still scarcely reign in my emotions.

He might not remember the dance; he may even forget my name in time. He'll marry a woman of his rank, his lovers will be the most beautiful of the tier below his. He'll never ask me to dance again; we may never speak. But I will have a memory; I will have one dance.

(Author's Note: Not my usual, but it happens, you know? We're all well aware that Narcissa wasn't the only one who had eyes for Lucius, and we know a good number of them would scarcely be be deemed fit to speak in his presence. This is just a little bit about one those girls who just happened to be in the right place at the right time, but desperately wished it were more, but accepts that it isn't. Tell me what you think?)


End file.
